


Family relations

by 37h4n0l



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, No pun intended, Spitroasting, Underage Sex, Verbal Humiliation, but yeah strega buddy you get whats coming at you, dont read this dont look at me, i fucking hate myself, i will deeply regret uploading this, strega gets dicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/37h4n0l
Summary: Strega gets dicked - the saga continues. (Garbage written by garbage for garbage)





	

**Author's Note:**

> @people outside that goddamn chat; you will never know why Strega keeps getting dicked in fanfics. You're gonna have to live with the mystery.
> 
> Also, I have yet to insert the italics bc my phone is being a dick, I apologize.

Strega muffles a gasp as he feels a hand creep up his thigh. There are people outside, not just security but eventual relatives as well. Don Galassia smirks, he can see it as he's turned his face sideways to look behind. He grabs Strega's crotch and the younger Galassia can feel blood rushing to his erection. The muscles in his thighs tense up and his toes curl and dig into the inside of his shoes.

"Didn't I tell you not to present yourself this frustrated?"

"I wasn't- AH!" The Don fondles his nephew through his pants again, creatig more friction this time. "I was fine before you started this" Strega mutters, trying to maintain a composed tone.

"Still talking back to me..." The older man pulls away and walks up to his desk. "You'll need to learn to shut that big mouth of yours if you want to take over this family one day."

Strega is left standing in the middle of the office, confused, aroused and frozen. His instant thought is touching himself, but he knows the punishment for that well enough to be deterred. His uncle sits in his chair with a calm, unsettling expression when he turns around. Strega also knows what that face means. This has been going on since he was a kid, but it gets harder every day.

He gives in and crawls under the desk, careful not to ruin his new suit while on all fours. He pulls Don Galassia's cock out with the easiness of someone who has learned a routine very well. Strega almost has a moment of reluctance thinking about the humiliation he's willingly subjecting himself to, but he doesn't really have a choice. He licks the head with expertise and swirls his tongue around, just like he knows his uncle likes it. He hears a moan from above; not as loud as it would've been if Strega were still a teenager, but at least there's a reaction. He takes the shaft in his mouth slowly and places his hands on the other man's thighs as soon as he feels it go fully erect.

Don Galassia entwines his fingers with Strega’s hair and grasps him, watching him bob his head dutifully. His eyelids droop, rendering his blue irises barely visible under long lashes as the cock, shiny and wet, disappears in his mouth again and again. His uncle has always considered his eyes his best feature; they have a fascinating coldness and cruelty to them, still the same one fourteen-year-old Strega had when he first brought him to his room. He told him even then: he’d go places. He’d be influential. If he could learn compliance, that is, and even him sucking Don Galassia’s cock so eagerly doesn’t mean he has.

Strega has gotten flustered, his face tinted with a red that looks out of place for his age. He licks the side of the cock all the way up. The other catches a glimpse of how hard he is in his pants - of course, Strega was excited before. Sometimes the Don forgets his nephew has come to like this in some odd manner, unsure if it’s some abnormality in his behaviour or his training being overly successful.

Strega’s mouth latches onto the erection again; he shoves his face down on it and releases a suffocated moan when it hits the back of his throat. He moves relentlessly, his rhythm getting faster while he gulps down uncontrollably. Don Galassia sees one of his hands shaking and sliding down towards his own crotch, then stopping, presumably as he reminds himself of the rules. Strega feels the taste of precum and whimpers. Suddenly, he pulls away. The older man leans down slightly to look under the desk, puzzled, only to find his nephew disheveled and red in the face, with a shining forehead and painful-looking bulge in his pants.

“Uncle…?” He asks quietly, keeping his voice in check even now. “Please?”

Don Galassia rolls his eyes and sighs, a fitting reaction because Strega sounds like a younger version of himself when he begs. Polite and docile. Not fit to be a mafia boss.

“Stop with the begging and get back to work. I’m not fucking you.”

“Is this what you’re going to do from now on? You’re the one who turned me… like this” Strega retorts, reluctant about the last part but explaining himself just fine nonetheless.

“Turned you into what?” The other man looks down strictly. “Nobody is obligating you to be a needy whore.”

The younger Galassia can only hope the sentence is part of some kind of roleplay. Sadly, it turns out not to be, and his face is forcefully shoved down on his uncle’s cock again. He whines as the Don fucks his mouth, holding him in place by his ginger scalp. Then, with a breathy groan and a deeper thrust that slams his cock into Strega’s throat again, he releases. The other man panics, desperately trying to swallow - there’s a punishment for spitting as well - and shutting his mouth tightly as soon as his uncle pulls out.

When he’s done buttoning up his pants, he yanks up a distressed Strega by his arm and pushes him against the wall behind the desk. Despite having grown taller than the Don throughout the years, he looks quite miserable; his messed-up hair, crumpled suit, the hyperventilating and that telling droplet of cum in the corner of his mouth.

Don Galassia jerks him off methodically, barely even looking at him. Strega moans and writhes, finally getting rid of his tensions. This exaggerated reaction in which he risks to scrape off the wallpaper with his nails is a habitual act that has already lost its point. His uncle has seen it enough times already not to be seduced by it. The older man’s hand is pressing his shoulder to the wall almost painfully, but the same calluses arouse him to madness as they touch his cock.

“Oh god… Ah...! I’m about to-” Strega grits his teeth and his uncle reaches to the handkerchief in his pocket, catching the cum with more or less success as he comes.

The piece of cloth drenched in semen is then handed to him in what could almost be mistaken for a formal gesture. Don Galassia sits down on his chair again, not even wasting a moment before he starts doing his paperwork.

Strega slumps against the wall, his heavy breathing readjusting little by little. His gaze is cast on the floor, but it reveals anger and defeat nonetheless; not the kind of passion he’s been longing for. It’s so hard, and yet he has to come to terms with it. With being a grown man, possibly not suited for the position he’s been longing for so much as to whore himself out to a relative; being someone who has even lost his value as a bitch, not good enough for anything beyond blowjobs anymore.

He wipes his forehead. They have another meeting with the Vanettis and he only has a few hours to pull himself together and change suits.

*

Strega has always perceived the Vanettis as odd and distant, but dignified. Well, that Nero kid is an exception, but he seems like a black sheep anyway, just waiting for his precious position to be torn from him. Innocuous and gullible. Still, Strega can’t help but feel a little jealous when he watches people bow down before that spoiled little prick and kiss his hand. And what he hates the most is that even he, himself isn’t able to truly belittle Nero; after all, he got where Strega still hasn’t - being Don - before him.

Nero isn’t here this time, he’s too busy and there’s a great chance he won’t make it here on time. Strega can be at ease. He finds the company of Vincent Vanetti inexplicably comforting, mostly because the Galassia likes to bask in the occasion to show off. He enjoys trying to make a good impression and giving the best of himself. Vincent’s official but calm - almost warm - demeanor makes him think of a slightly improved version of his own uncle. Maybe he could like the old man a bit more if he had the same dignity that radiates from Vincent when he enters the coffee hall…

Strega feels a familiar excitement in parts of his body where he shouldn’t. He curses the strange taste for men he had developed since his uncle’s ‘treatment’, starting when he was still young. It’s a quite uncomfortable secret, both for the sake for preserving the Galassias’ pride and for continuing the bloodline. Trying to get it up for a woman will be nerve-wracking no doubt, considering that he likes men to the same extent that he hates liking them. He likes the intensity, the challenge. He also likes losing, but that’s a tad harder to admit.

Vincent’s age and illness also have a certain charm to them. Strega’s eyes gleam when he passes before him, slumped in his immaculate suit - the wrinkles run deep on his face and his hair is streaked with white. He has aged fast. There’s another man with him, Deltoro is his name from what Strega heard; not any less of a good catch. He could try and sleep with him, or he could do the bold thing and go directly for Vincent. There’s a good thing about childhood sexual abuse (as it would be called if Strega didn’t like it as much as he always did): there is no shame in these admissions. He can’t go lower than incest anyway, shrugging off the humiliation is easy.

Sex is still not an easy subject to bring up and Strega is about to get desperate when his uncle stands up and unexpectedly announces his leave. His and not theirs. Wait.

“I’m sure my underboss can explain the rest, keep him here as long as you please” he pats his nephew’s shoulder. “He’ll be able to entertain you, hopefully.”

He gives Strega that look, causing his eyes to widen as he wonders if he understood correctly. Has he been whored out to the Vanettis? Were they notified or was he supposed to inform them about the offer on his own? Sometimes he curses the intricate ways the Galassia family has to climb the ladder, even though he wouldn’t mind having men like that in the slightest. Enticing, powerful men. Subject to the stupidest form of manipulation, namely sex. And whether Vincent will give in or not is not even a question, because Strega knows he’s not allowed to leave the room until he succeeds.

The door closes and then it’s just Vincent staring at Strega and Strega staring at Vincent for a few seconds. Deltoro stands behind the desk, his gaze cast blankly before him. He’d probably be staring too if he wasn’t a bodyguard. It’s nice to know this entire ordeal will end up as complete humiliation for Strega or the exact opposite. Will the Vanettis maintain their integrity? They both look hard to break.

“I’m not sure we have anything business related to discuss” Strega says, trying to mask his intentions with a disappointed tone.

“I’m glad you stayed, though,” Vincent interrupts him (it’s not a gesture the Galassia generally appreciates, but his words stop flowing involuntarily at the authoritative tone) “We have some family relations to reconcile, if I recall correctly.”

An innuendo? Strega sweats and feels his lower stomach contract from excitement.

“The situation with Ronaldo was a rather messy one and I can only hope the Galassia family can overlook it. My son, Nero, will take full responsibility for what happened.”

The other man slumps back into the couch he was about to get up from. Vincent still appears to be oblivious, and Strega swears that if he hears another mention of Nero he’ll burst out the door.

“We’ve long forgotten” he chuckles, trying to sound at ease. “In fact, our family is so happy with Lawless Heaven that I was about to ask you about any favour or service you may need.”

“I can see the good intentions behind your offer, but the Vanetti family isn’t in need of charity.” Vincent’s words are slightly louder, enough to account for him raising his voice. The Galassias’ underboss tears his eyes away from his in shock. Is he offended?

“Not charity, perhaps, but some help for sure.”

“One asks for help only of those capable of helping him.”

Strega grits his teeth, feeling his cold rationality fade away at the subtle insults levelled at his family. Vanetti wants to play battle of words? Battle of words it is, then.

“Pardon my forgetfulness, but why did the Vanetti family seek alliance with the Galassias again?”

“A fair exchange. You don’t underestimate the value of Lawless Heaven, I suppose, Strega? Don Galassia certainly didn’t when he accepted the deal.” Vincent gets up from his chair as he speaks, Deltoro’s eyes follow his movements. He sits on the armchair in front of Strega, the aforementioned drink ready for consumption along with two glasses on the coffee table between them. He pours himself some liquor.

Strega reaches for his own glass as if to confirm the quality of the product. No, he already knows how good the whisky is; more than anything, he desires drunken stupor right now. He should calm down, the current tension won’t do his family any good. His uncle will blame it on him, he’ll get punished. Strega hates operating like a child but there’s only one way to become Don in the family. He gulps down all of it at once, his cheeks flushing as he puts the glass down.

“It’s good to see our alcohol is still to your liking” Vincent comments, his gaze gouging into the Galassia. Unreadable. Strega doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

“If not charity, the Vanetti family wouldn’t mind a demonstration of trust, I hope?” He quickly regrets the phrase, as it comes out more straightforward than he wanted it to due to the drink he had.

“Now, that’s interesting” Vincent scratches his beard, “Are these orders from the Don or are you already making decisions on your own before even getting to the position?”

“It’s an order I can fully comply with” Strega replies, smirking, as he notices the already emerging sexual tension. “I’m still an underboss, after all. Being eager to please is my job.”

Deltoro’s presence reemerges from the background with a few coughs reverberating in the room. The Galassia shoots him a glance with half-lidded eyes and an air of superiority. He books the bodyguard as the more perspicacious one and tries to make it clear through looks that he won’t allow him to interrupt his plans with Vincent.

“I appreciate it, but to me it looks like you’re the one in need of a favour here, Strega.”

The younger man’s eyes widen as the Vanetti points at his crotch where his erection has created a very visible bulge. Despite not having noticed his own bodily reactions, he regains his cool quickly. Unexpected, but the situation appears to be getting to the point. It’s not a bad development.

There’s another moment of heavy, awkward silence. Deltoro doesn’t even flinch.

“Should I keep waiting for my treat or have you changed your mind, Galassia?”

Strega loves and hates how Vincent says that, he makes his family name sound like a synonym for ‘slut’. He has to wonder how the ex-Don still has so much snark in him despite being on the verge of death both due to health conditions and assassination attempts. He goes with his instincts and drops to his knees before the Vanetti, hands shaky as he opens his pants to pull out his cock. He realizes too late that this won’t be nearly as easy as it would be with his uncle. The sweet spots and favourite techniques are not the same. For once, Strega doubts his love for challenges.

He tries licking the underside and good, it looks like he’s going in the right direction with his attempts. A few more brushes of Strega’s tongue and Vincent is already hard. He has to hold back a smirk. Soon, this powerful, influential, dignified man will be yearning for release and again, only the Galassias will be able to help the Vanettis out of their misery, just like on the grand scale.

Strega finally takes Vincent’s cock in his mouth. It’s quite big in size and he’s not sure he can fit all of it inside, but that’s fine too, it will probably be a turnon. He goes all the way down, as far as he can, then raises his head again, legs squirming slightly from excitement under him. He locks eyes with Deltoro and can spot a hint of distress in his expression.

He bobs his head fast, careful not to let out his voice. Strega wonders if he’s enjoying the blowjob more than the one receiving it, but it doesn’t matter either way. He’s immune to humiliation, but Vincent isn’t immune to the power Strega’s mouth and tongue has over him right now. He’ll see the Vanetti’s face redden, maybe hear him groan, he’ll see his walls crumble.

The older man is already shifting in the armchair, the back of his head tilting into the cushion. Strega swallows and attempts to take in more of Vincent, almost erupting in a coughing fit. He doesn’t expect the other to grab him by the hair and pull his face up from his cock. The Galassia stares at him questioningly through hooded eyes. He must look disarrayed from the outside, especially his face and his chin with a few droplets of precum on it.

“Deltoro,” Vincent says, the darkness of lust seeping through the control he has over his voice, “Come here for a second, will you?”

Strega panics as the bodyguard follows the order without question; he reminds himself a hundred, a thousand times over that he’s the one manipulating them and not the opposite. Maybe the games he was playing were too transparent, maybe his uncle told them in advance.

“You get behind him, keep him still.”

And keep him still he does; Strega feels a strong grip on his wrists from behind while another hand - Vincent’s - pushes him down by the neck, bringing him to all fours. This is clearly not their first time doing this, but then again, this is the mafia. Deltoro is yanking his pants down and earns an uncontrollable whimper from the Galassia. It’s been so long since he’s been taken like he’s about to be. No, he shouldn’t make this about his own frustration, he’s supposed to exercise control over the Vanettis - except he wasn’t expecting anything more than blowing Vincent, and now Deltoro stroking himself with an almost bored frown is making him lose his mind.

“What are you-” Strega bursts out, his low voice going up in pitch from agitation, cut off by his head being yanked up and a cock being shoved in his mouth again. He nearly chokes around it, lets out a particularly loud mmmph when Deltoro’s finger prods his asshole then pushes in without any warning.

“You Galassias never cease to amaze me” Vincent says between rough breaths. He grabs Strega’s messed-up locks to look at his face and the way he winces and inhales abruptly when the other man behind him adds a finger. “Even as the most rich and powerful family in this city, none of you have any dignity.”

“How- ...AH! -dare you…!” Strega is a little sickened by himself when he realizes that as Deltoro pushes in, it’s equally painful and pleasurable. He has a brief reminiscence of afternoons when he used to be fucked just like this, from behind, or lying on the desk with his legs spread. He had to keep quiet during those times to avoid punishment, and considering that he risked ‘treats’ like being locked up in a room alone for several days, he had a good reason to hold back moans and cries as his uncle forced in his cock. Now, though, he can let his voice out as much as he wants when Deltoro slams into him repeatedly.

“Ahhh… Hah… The Don will know about this… I will fucking… Ahhh! Tell him everything…” Strega can’t tell if he’s being honest or engaging in a sort of sexual roleplay anymore.

“And what do you think he would do?” Vincent chuckles sneeringly, fucking Strega’s mouth again to shut him up. “Lose a good deal because his nephew can’t endure with what’s coming at him for acting like the cheapest whore on the corner?”

The Galassia’s cock twitches at the verbal humiliation. He doesn’t recall being this frustrated, maybe he’s been keeping it in the back of his mind for too long. The two men’s thrusts acquire a simultaneous rhythm and they just fill up Strega so good he’s tempted to voice the thought. He would tell Deltoro how great his cock feels, especially with how calculated and monotonous the rocking of his hips is. He’d blabber on in a stream of consciousness - if Vincent’s cock wasn’t hitting the back of his throat at the very moment.

The Vanetti pulls out and reaches with one hand to hold up his chin, - from which a stream of saliva and precum is dripping on his clean suit - making him look up. The other man doesn’t stop his movements, aims repeatedly at his prostate, making Strega shiver and clench his teeth each time. He tries to keep his gaze on Vincent through heavy lids but his eyes roll up involuntarily when Deltoro hunches forward to touch his cock, giving it a slow stroke.

“Actually feeling good, Galassia? And you were the one making threats with disclosing this” Vincent sighs. “Would your future subordinates respect you if they saw you like this, on your hands and knees like a dog, taking it in the mouth and ass?”

Strega whines as a response, getting close to climax. He glances behind briefly before his face is shoved back onto Vincent’s erection. He spots an irregularity in Deltoro’s thrusts, they’re more frantic than before. He has to hold back a smirk; it feels like his biggest victory so far to get that statue of a man so worked up. Both of his partners are in a nearly animalistic state and he did this, he’s the only one who could. Strega can’t help but enjoy the affair on both fronts.

Vincent releases in his mouth, cursing several times under his breath. The Galassia gets some cum on his cheeks and clothes as well, panicked but also aroused by the thought that he will have to leave the room in the same outfit. The ex-Don gestures at Deltoro who freezes, keeping only the head of his cock inside as he pulls out. Strega whines in surprise and disappointment.

“Beg for it” Vincent orders.

The Galassia has to squeeze the words out as he shifts uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too empty.

“I… P-please…?” He breathes sharply a few times and tries again. “Please f-fuck me more, I need to c-cum…!” It sounds so pathetic and desperate that he’s now fully uncertain about who’s holding the power here.

“And which family are you asking for help?” Vincent’s words are heavy and overpowering, they hurt like a dull knife in a wound.

“The V-Vanettis…! Fuck-! I will kiss your feet, just please, let me come…! I need it so badly!”

One more movement of a hand and Deltoro resumes, going wild and jerking off Strega who moans so loudly it’s likely to be audible outside the room as well, but that’s too little of a worry right now. As he’s about to orgasm, he feels something hard press against his lips, and fuck, it really is Vincent’s shoe. He licks it eagerly, tasting polish and dirt as his cum splatters all over his clothing. Deltoro releases a moment later, quietly, like he does everything.

There’s a silent consensus between the three of them as both the other two men get back to their earlier positions - Vincent sitting behind his desk, adjusting his slightly disheveled hair, and his bodyguard tucking back shirt tails into his pants and buckling his belt. Strega waits a few seconds without moving to regain a regular breathing before redressing and doing his best to make his soiled suit less noticeably out of place. He walks to the door with wobbling feet while muttering something that’s supposed to be a greeting, and he keeps telling himself that he’s won, he got what he wanted, they gave in - he needs to, because he has a strange sense of defeat looming over him.

Right when he closes the door behind himself, he bumps into someone on the corridor. His guts clench as he finds himself looking at an overconfident smirk and a pair of blue eyes, so much different than his own. Oh no, not now, of all times. Strega looks away, spits out a ‘good afternoon’ shortly and keeps walking.

“Hey,” Nero yells behind him, making him turn around “You still have some of it” he points at his own cheek “On your face.”

The Galassia breaks into cold sweat, his steps fastening. One more look in the new Vanetti Don’s direction is enough for him to see the other bend in an unstoppable wave of laughter he tries to muffle in the sleeve of his shirt. His fingernails dig into his palms from the immense amount of rage he feels coming towards him as soon as he can process what just happened. And yet, he doesn’t dare to make the next curse he levels at Nero’s entire family loud enough to be heard.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I want to die


End file.
